


Random Snippets

by Lene3161



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Wings, Dark Q, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Gangsters, M/M, Mob Boss Q, a/b/o dynamics, hints of steampunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2020-12-01 22:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20920709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lene3161/pseuds/Lene3161
Summary: A collection of barely-started works I decided to put together under one title instead of cluttering my desktop.





	1. Pre-JAQ Pirates AU

**Author's Note:**

> As title and summary says, bits of fic ideas I never developed fully. If anyone wants to use them as inspiration for their own fic, feel free to do so.

Q struggled in the pirates’ grasp as they dragged him to their ship. He could hear his father screaming for him, shouting for the crew to let him run after his son, for the pirates to take him instead. Q looked back, desperate to get one last glimpse of his father, and just managed to catch his tear-stricken face before the men shoved him into the captain’s quarters.

“Let me go!” he howled, kicking and flailing. “My grandmother will - ”

“The blood in your veins doesn’t matter among pirates, whelp,” a gentleman’s baritone voice called out. “Only the blood you spill does.”

Q glared at the speaker as he was shoved down to his knees. The speaker was a middle-aged man with short, close-cropped blond hair, icy blue eyes, and tanned skin. His nose looked as though it had been the survivor of many fights, and his face was stern. He sat on a rich brocade armchair beside a four-poster bed with the drapes closed. He assessed Q carefully, like an artist observing another’s creation. Q wanted to bludgeon his nose in further.

“You look awfully young for someone hailed to be a medical and engineering genius,” the man said at last, his thick brows furrowing.

“It’s because of the crime-free life. Not that _you_ will know anything about that, you filthy pirate,” Q shot back. That got him a shake from the man holding his arm.

“Ya lil’ - ” the burly man began, only to stop at the captain’s deep, rich laughter. The men looked amazed at his mirth. Q wondered just how rare an occurrence it was.

The captain stopped laughing, though he still looked amused. Q realized he had dark circles under his eyes. The man had been worried recently. Was that why his men had been so shocked at his laugh?

“You’ve got spirit, boy,” he rumbled. “I’m Captain Bond, James Bond, at your service.” He even bowed to Q. The bloody cheek! Here he was, kneeling on the hard wooden floor, and the man had the nerve to act like they were meeting in a coffee-house. Q was going to pummel him black and blue.

“Quintavius Boothroyd, _not _at your service. It has been very unpleasant to meet you, and I doubt that will ever change,” Q replied, though he wanted to say something far more vulgar.

Bond laughed again, and dared to ruffle Q’s hair like he was a boy recently breeched and not a fully grown young man. Q considered snapping his head up and trying to bite at the pirate’s fingers, but before he could do it, Bond walked away and pulled back the bed hangings. To his shock, Q saw another man with hair a darker shade of blond, badly burned and sweating like mad.

“James?” The sick man moaned. His green eyes glittered with a manic gleam. “James, where are you?”

The pirate’s eyes softened, and he returned to the side of the bed to carefully stroke the burned man’s sweaty brow. Q looked away, uncomfortable at such a naked display of emotions. He never knew pirates could care for other people than themselves. Which really was a very stupid misconception - after all, they worked in crews. Some form of camaraderie must have been formed. And to think he called himself a genius.

“This is Alec Trevelyan, my first mate, second in command, and lover,” Bond said. Q could feel his eyes widen into the size of dinner plates. He had heard of the things seamen did to each other, but he had never seen anyone proclaim it in such a matter of fact way, like saying the sky was blue and the ocean was deep. Q glanced at the crew and saw that they weren’t surprised or disgusted. For a moment, Q felt a deep stab of jealousy at Bond’s way of life: free of judgement and full of acceptance.

_They couldn’t care less how their captain feels, only how he leads them,_ Q thought. _That’s more than I will ever have. How is it that criminals have more sense than the majority of good, law-abiding men?_

“Is there a problem?” Bond asked in a genial tone that still implied a threat, a coating of honey over bear teeth. His eyes were cold and flat as he watched Q’s reaction. “You’re famous for vowing to treat all patients the same. You’ve got the chance to prove your words, boy. Will you take it, or should I toss you Davy Jones’ locker?”

“I will,” Q replied. “I’m just surprised you’ll be so bold about liking men. I’ve seen the backs of Navy men who were given the lash after they were…discovered. It wasn’t pretty.” He hadn’t been allowed to treat them no matter how much he wanted to because he wasn’t in the Crown’s employ.

Bond snorted. “Nationalities and inclinations don’t matter on this ship, unless you desire children. If you fight, drink, and sail with us, you are part of the crew. Now, are you going to look Alec over and heal him, or should I make good on my threat?”

“I will look after him to the best of my ability. You have my word,” Q promised. His arms were released, and he rubbed the circulation back into them. He stood up, took off his waistcoat, and rolled up his sleeves.

“Will one of you be so kind as to retrieve my medicine trunk?” Q addressed the other crewmen. Bond gestured to one of them to go out the door, and he trotted out hollering for someone named Eve.

_What an odd name for a man_, Q thought as he stepped closer to Mr. Trevelyan. _Then again, on a scale of one being the heir of a grand estate choosing to become a physician-surgeon hybrid and ten being a gentleman running off to become a pirate captain, I suppose it barely ranks a two._

Q straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and got to work.


	2. 00Q Mildly Steampunk Edwardian AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond comes home to a delightful surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been really into historical fashion RN, and my horrible brain somehow mashed together Edwardian 'undress' items with my OTP, so...enjoy. 
> 
> Q's teagown is this: https://id.pinterest.com/pin/184155072247420330/ The board also has other images of absolutely beautiful teagowns, check them out. For more on teagowns in general, go here: http://www.edwardianpromenade.com/fashion/the-tea-gown/ For more on historical decorative lingerie, go here: https://www.geriwalton.com/victorian-french-lingerie/
> 
> Teagowns, though necessary components of a lady's wardrobe, had naughty connotations in the past - they were meant to be worn without corsets, though most women only loosened theirs instead of completely taking it off. Complete with the still split crotch drawers, the easy access created an atmosphere of intimacy and sexual intrigue. During the Edwardian era, tacit agreement existed between married couples of the afternoon tea being a time for the wife to entertain her lover while the husband goes to his. Just be sure you have discreet servants, though - wouldn't want anyone gossiping of So-and-so being unfaithful.

“How did the training of new recruits go today, James?” Q greeted him as he stepped into the drawing room. James paused in the doorway, his grip on a box of Q’s favourite macarons from Harrods faltering at the sight of his lover. Or more accurately, what his lover was wearing. He knew he must have looked foolish, lingering in the doorway as his trousers swelled inconveniently; but he couldn’t help it.

Q was sprawled on their purple and gilt chaise lounge with a book on his lap, wearing a lavishly decorated sea-foam green silk tea gown with a wide lace collar tucked into a pointed decorative belt of the same material as the gown. The bodice of the gown was vertically ruched, the sleeves were gathered into intricate puffs and was trimmed with lace at the cuffs. The skirt had a large band of net lace insertion at the bottom that was finished at the top with a narrow strip of self-ruching with lace running through the center.Above the ruching was another band of net lace insertion with a gap in the middle, and from the sides of the gap a strip of lace reached up to just above Q’s knees. The strips of lace had three green bows each.

James swallowed, aware of how dry his mouth was. “It went well,” he murmured, about five minutes late in answering Q’s question, his eyes roaming Q’s outfit. Lord in Heaven, his inconvenience was throbbing like a hammered thumb. Q was pointedly ignoring his swollen trousers. James wondered what the hell he was planning.

“Don’t just stand there, James,” Q admonished, sitting up and putting his book on a side table. He gestured to his side. “Come now, there’s tea and hot chocolate. Sit down and refresh yourself - I’m sure you must have had long, hard tribulations today.” There was a flush in his cheeks now, and his eyes sparkled mischievously. For the first time, James noticed the silver tea set and chocolate pot on their tea table.

_The little minx_, James thought. He was going to enjoy bending Q over the arm of the chaise and making the whole house ring with his moans. He was never more thankful for mechanical servants; if he had human ones he would never be able to have Q on practically every flat surface of their home.


	3. Pre-00Q with Half-Fae Q on James' Estate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was the night of the full moon. Q was out playing on the frozen lake, making frost flowers appear on the banks and dancing on the ice.
> 
> James Bond just wanted to know what the Hell this stranger on his property was doing naked and showing off his pasty white arse in the middle of winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Ben Whishaw in The Tempest was beautiful. I have no excuse.

Q tumbled out of the door to the world of the Fair Folk, giggling with excitement. He hurried further away, before the guards got out of his trap. He sometimes hated his mother for being so incredibly overprotective, even though he understood why she acted that way.

Q paused in a shadowy grove and started condensing his magic to create a portal. Tonight was the night of the full moon, when all the Fair Folk - except for him - went out to play and make merry. He thought over what he wanted to do tonight, chewing his lower lip as he did so. He knew he mustn’t go to a place popular among the Fair Folk because he would be chased out, but they were everywhere. It would be difficult to avoid them.

Q’s mind went to a lake on a certain estate. It was winter already in Scotland, the place where the lake was. It would be frozen, which meant Q could skate and dance on the ice. Smiling, Q released his magic, and a portal to the lake on a human estate called Skyfall opened. Q jumped into the portal with a giddy laugh, ready to enjoy his freedom away from the watchful eyes of the Court. 

* * *

James stomped out of the manor house, jaws clenched, shoulders tense. He regretted coming back here. He should never have let Kincade convince him to go back.

“I need ye to look over the building and the land,” the gruff caretaker had said. “It’s been years - and I want to know what the master of the estate thinks of how I do my work. And there was talk of campers or squatters or what-have-you stealing the foxes and planning on invading your property, so visiting will scare them off.”

Fucking bollocks. The manor was pristine, there was no sign of poaching, and everything worked perfectly. Kincade looked disturbed when James told him the results of his evaluation. It looked out of place in the cheery atmosphere of the village pub. He couldn’t bear being in the house for more than necessary, and had practically dragged Kincade to the pub.

“That’s not right,” the old man said with a shake of his head. “I’ve been getting on in years and haven’t been doing my job as well as I could have for some time. There is no way nothing is wrong.”

“Then I suppose you’re a better caretaker than you think, Kincade,” James replied. He nursed the pint of beer he bought. For once, he actually enjoyed the company and wanted to savour it as long as he could.

“That’s the fae’s work,” a small voice croaked out. James and Kincade turned to the speaker. It was an old woman. She had short cropped grey hair, a round, wrinkled face, and a boney frame. “Some brownie must have taken a fancy to you. You should start putting out offerings soon. Or maybe it’s some other more powerful fae. The legends say the Bonds always had a particular affinity for them. I have a feeling it’s the latter.”

“Faeries don’t exist,” James said bluntly. Old women and their fancies.

“Then you’ve been away for far too long,” she sniffed before going back to her shepherd’s pie.

Kincade mumbled something under his breath before going to the bar and ordering scotch. James contemplated getting the same, but decided against it, not wanting to worry Kincade.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this photoshoot is a gift to mankind: https://www.anothermanmag.com/library/9865/ben-whishaw

James and Alec walked home together after yet another tiring day at their dead-end job. Alec was looking murderous, his hands twitching to beat someone up. James could sympathize. After the day they had, he wanted to shoot their boss in the kneecaps too.

“Can’t we quit and find another job somewhere else?” Alec said despairingly. “That _hui _\- how dare he insult our relationship!”

“And who’ll take on a pair of Navy washouts?” James snapped. “We’re barely getting by as it is, Alec. I’d like to toss the bastard into the Thames too, but we need him.”

“You know, your wish can be arranged,” a posh, flutey voice sounded from behind them. Tensing, James and Alec whirled around to find the boy-leader of a nearby mob looking at them with a playful smile. He smirked at their wary looks, leaning against the wall. His dark hair blended into the shadows while his exposed milky white skin, revealed by his skimpy clothes, stood out in the dark. If James and Alec didn’t know better, they’d have thought he was a rentboy trying to reel them in.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Alec said, barely on the edge of politeness. “We’re not going to help you start a gang war or what not.” He grabbed James’ arm and pulled him closer before walking away.

“The war’s already been won,” the boy laughed. Alec’s mind whirled at the implication of his words. Had this part of town been handed over to the Scrabblers? There hadn’t been the usual gunshots. Maybe the Scrabblers asked for the increased territory as reparation or something.

“I’ve got your wallet, Mr. Bond,” the boy singsonged. Alec froze. The boy sidled up beside James and handed over a familiar black leather wallet. Narrowing his eyes, James plucked it from the boy’s grasp while trying not to stare at the flawless skin of his chest. He caught a flash of a nipple before he saw the boy give him a knowing smirk. Scowling, James rifled through his wallet to find that nothing was taken or tampered with.

“Thank you, Q,” James said after his inspection was done.

“You’re welcome,” Q replied, his pink lips stretched in a grin. They looked like the world’s most kissable rose petals.

“Now that you’ve had your fun,” Alec growled, “It’s time for us to go home. Go back to whatever club you were in and try to get laid. Good night.” They had barely taken a step before Q stood in front of them.

Alec sighed, and asked “What do you want? We don’t want to get involved with your gang.”

Q gave them a patronizing smile and leaned back. The lilac silk shirt he wore was only fastened at the fourth button, revealing most of his hairless chest and thin happy trail. His belly-length chain necklace drew the eye to his nipples and belly button. He wore black pinstripe skinny jeans, emphasizing the long and willowy lines of his slender body. There was some kind of sequined harness around his shoulders - the front straps were undone and reached his narrow hips. All in all, he looked completely delectable. He was the kind of pretty young thing James and Alec would invite into their beds a year ago.

“This area is mine now,” Q said with a terrifying smile that nonetheless made James’ cock twitch. “As you know, I take care of my own. And I don’t allow homophobes and their ilk. Since you’re the target of his prejudice, I think it’s only fair you get to choose his death. So - the Thames, wasn’t it?”

“We need the job. So don’t kill our boss,” said James.

“He can be easily replaced, Mr. Bond,” Q replied. “There’s no shortage of good workers in the warehouse.”

“And what do you think will happen when he’s killed the day after he insulted us? We’ll be seen as-”

“Unreliable tattletales, I know,” Q rolled his eyes. “This place has been mine for the last three days - long enough for my people to find out about him. No one will bat an eye if he disappears - they know the kind of people I kill. He’ll be gone and you’ll still have your job.”

“That’s very tempting, but - ” Alec started, but Q cut him off.

“I’d be getting rid of him anyway, Mr. Trevelyan. I’m just offering you the chance to choose how you want him gone.” Q smiled at them charmingly, his green eyes open and soft. The contrast between the subject and his expression gave James and Alec whiplash.

“Drown him, then.” The words slipped out of James’ mouth before he knew it. Alec gave him a look of disbelief.

“Just drowning? No shots to the kneecap, or a stab to his crotch, or maybe gouging his eye out? I’d have thought you military men would be more creative,” Q teased.

“No,” James shook his head. “Just drown him.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Bond may be the handsomest agent of MI6, but the Quartermaster has the most beautiful wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying my hand on this AU. And my version has tails, because for some reason I associate ‘wingfic’ with them.

James Bond smiled internally when he saw the fluttering of the Quartermaster’s beautiful plumage when he entered Q-Branch. He was not alone in his appreciation. A few of Q’s minions were not-so-subtly admiring their superior. It was impossible not to, with the iridescent greens and blues of his wings and tail. Said appendages were twitching excitedly, their owner clearly having solved a difficult bit of coding, judging by the smile on his face as he gazed down at a laptop that was not his own. The decorative peacock feathers located at the top of his tail was raised high, and his eyes were alight.

“Quartermaster,” James greeted smoothly as he deposited his gun, the mangled remains of his radio, and his exploding cufflinks.

“007,” Q replied with a slight furrow to his brow as he surveyed the agent’s remarkably intact equipment. “You brought back an unusually large amount of equipment back. Well done.” Q graced James with a pleased smile.

“I always aim to please, Q,” James grinned back.

Q harrumphed. “Is that why you went dark for _three _hours two days ago? While infiltrating the headquarters of a crime lord, no less?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Q was stabbed and lost his uterus, everyone expected him to mourn, and for his relationship with James to be affected.
> 
> They didn’t expect Q to smile and say “Thank fucking God."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be an examination of how willingly childfree people with uteruses are seen yet it somehow grew wings and legs and a pearly horn, and flew away with a trail of rainbow glitter.  
Also, I know nothing about British schooling nor childbirth. If I wrote something wrong, please tell me  
And tinkering with gender stuff in an A/B/O universe is way more fun than I thought.

Q doesn't want to get pregnant and be a parent. Never had, never will. For some reason, it always ticked everyone off. The first time he said it, he was fourteen, but nobody believed him.

”I want grandchildren!” Mummy wailed with all the drama of a soap opera actress. 

”You have Kyle,” Q, who was still called Benjamin, pointed out. “And he’s way better at being a parent than I will ever be.”

Kyle, his fraternal alpha twin, rolled his eyes and continued eating his chicken. 

Mummy shook her head. “You're just a baby. You’ll change your mind when you’re older.” She sipped her tea with a smugness and self-assuredness that made Q ponder the merits of telling her to bugger off. He didn’t, though-because Mummy raised him with manners.

Daddy’s reaction got him nominated to the highly prestigious position of Favourite Parent Ever. 

“Good, more family time with us. On a serious note, though, Ben-make sure you work extra hard before retiring so you can save money, you hear me? You won’t have anyone to take care of you and your husband-“

”I don’t think I want to get married or have a boyfriend either, Daddy.”

Mummy squawked with horror, though whether at the mention of her omega son living in unmarried congress or the fact he doesn’t want an alpha at all was difficult to parse out.

”-you and your pets, so you need to make sure you have enough money to supply your pension.”

"Okay, Daddy." That wasn't even a problem. Benjamin was brilliant and he knows it. He'd skipped two years ahead at school. That alone would make people want to hire him.

To be fair to Mummy, he was a child, and he did change his mind about having an alpha in his life. But children? He still had the same opinion about having them at thirty as when he was fourteen.

* * *

"There is no way Ms. Thomas is fifty-four. She looks so young," Mummy said from the passenger seat after Benjamin and Kyle's report cards were distributed. 

"She's childless and single." Daddy pointed out. He started to drive back home.

"She's not childless, Daddy-she fosters five kids," Kyle piped up.

"No, she _sponsors_ five kids, Kyle. She only sends them money, and they send her thank you letters and Christmas cards. I'm going to do that when I'm older." Benjamin said.

"Why would you take care of other people's children? Have your own." Mummy replied.

"I don't want to do that. I'm going to adopt an omega boy if I want a kid."

"It's safer to have your own, Ben. If you adopt, you don't know what you'll get. What if the kid is sickly or have attitude problems?" Daddy cautioned.

"So? You and Mummy made us but we're so different. Kyle's an artist and I'm a coder."

"That's different."

"How?"

"I wonder how she affords the sponsor fees for five kids," Mummy murmured. "Teachers' salaries aren't exactly extravagant."

"She used to work in an office, and she invested her salary. But she decided she liked teaching better, so she's in Edgewater Secondary School now." Benjamin said.

"Smart woman-she's got a career she loves and she has the money to do what she likes. Be like her when you're older, Ben." Daddy said.

"Be old and fat and eventually die alone? Surely there are better role models than her," Mummy rolled her eyes.

"You're fat and old too, Mummy." Benjamin was unimpressed at his mother's opinion on Ms. Thomas.

"That's because I was pregnant with twins. She has no excuse.”

"If you say so." Benjamin conceded.

Kyle glared at Ben, angry at him for insulting his favourite parent. Kyle had always resembled Mummy most in everything; from his personality to his talents. His looks were an exception: he had Daddy's dark curls, blue eyes, height, nose and cheekbones; but his mouth, chin and jawline was all Mummy's plump lips and square jawbones. He and Mummy were both talented painters, though Kyle favoured acrylic paint while Mummy preferred watercolours. Benjamin, on the other hand, was his father's son. The only thing he inherited from Mummy in terms of looks were his green eyes, though he sometimes wished he had Mummy's blonde hair. 

Benjamin only rolled his eyes at his brother. Several minutes passed in comfortable silence before he asked, "What do you think if I go to a boarding school, Mummy?"

"Boarding school?" Mummy asked, surprised. "Why? I thought you wanted to stay in Edgewater for Sixth Form."

"Eton is interested in me." Benjamin replied.

"You're an omega." Daddy said, though there was a note of hopefulness he tried to bury. "Eton only allows alpha or beta boys."

"They say they're planning on expanding to include omegas next school year. Ms. Thomas has a friend there, and he told her of Eton's plans. She recommended me, and he said Eton would be happy to have an omega boy with my grades." Benjamin squirmed with excitement. "So, can I go there for Sixth Form?"

Mummy and Daddy shared a Look. Seeing it, Kyle and Benjamin also looked at each other with alarm.

"Darling," this was bad. Daddy only called Ben that when he couldn't give Ben something. "We don't know if we can afford the school fees."

"But I've had scholarships with Edgewater my entire life," Ben whispered. "Is the money saved from that not enough for Eton?"

"One year at Eton is equal to two years at Edgewater for Kyle," Daddy replied. "You know the law firm hasn't been giving us a good profit for some time."

"Oh."

"But you can get a scholarship at Eton, though!" Kyle blurted out. "You've always gotten scholarships, right?"

Benjamin smiled. "Yeah! I'll get a full scholarship, and we won't have to worry about the school fees!"

"Does that mean I can use your room as a studio?"

"No! Keep your filthy mitts away from my room! You did that enough when Mummy was pregnant with us!" Kyle was much bigger than Benjamin in the womb, so much that Ben was squished to the bottom. The ob/gyn even advised Mummy to have a C-section at thirty-six weeks because she worried he would be too big for a vaginal birth. After they were born, Mummy always joked Kyle had kicked Ben out of their bedroom.

"Boys, stop that!" Mummy laughed. "We'll get a tutor to prepare you for the scholarship test, Ben. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and we're going to do our best to support you."

* * *

Benjamin passed the scholarship test with flying colours. He got the confirmation letter on Saturday morning. Daddy was working overtime while Mummy had gone out shopping. He had overturned his wardrobe in a packing frenzy when he got the confirmation letter with its enclosed packing list. Benjamin had just pulled out a pair of knickers and boxer-briefs from his underwear drawer when he turned and saw Kyle.

"What are you doing here?" Benjamin hissed.

"Watching you go mad."

"Then help or get out." Benjamin started folding his underwear. Kyle picked up a pair of lace-trimmed white knickers with a little ribbon on the waistband from the floor and examined it like a lab researcher would a new antibiotic.

"Stop staring at my pants, you pervert. Start folding it."

"How do these fit?" Kyle asked, looking at Benjamin's crotch. "I know you're smaller than me, but-you know..."

"You're asking if my twig and berries feel squashed?" Benjamin asked. He could feel his mouth widen into a smile.

Kyle groaned. "You know what, forget I asked."

"Try it," Benjamin said, grinning.

"What?" Kyle spluttered out. "No way! I won't fit!"

"Your package isn't that big, Kyle! Come on, try it!" Benjamin came closer to Kyle and pushed the knickers closer to Kyle's face.

"I wasn't talking about my dick, Ben! Who's the pervert now?"

"Fine, we're both perverts. Now, try it."

Kyle scrunched his face up and pulled the frilly knickers on. They sat tightly over his sweatpants. Kyle frowned and plucked at the frilly waistband.

"Don't they itch?"

"No. How do they feel?"

"Tight. My thighs are bigger than yours. And-the other thing is bigger too." Kyle was bright red when he mumbled the second half of the sentence out.

"Not to mention your arse."

"I can't believe I asked you this. And don't talk about my arse-we're _brothers_." Kyle screwed his face up.

"Then stop walking around in your pants and displaying your backside."

"You do it too! Except you wear knickers most of the time! I see way more of you!"

"Yeah, yeah." Benjamin rolled his eyes.

Kyle pulled Benjamin's knickers off while making a sound of disgust.

"How can you wear that thing? It looks like a doily on some nan's coffee table." Kyle tossed the underwear to Benjamin's bed.

"Because I'm a male omega, and Mummy and Daddy decided to figure out how they should treat me as they go along? And stop exaggerating, it's barely got any frills. You should see one of Mummy's knickers."

"Speaking of male omegas, Rachel's baby cousin is one. Do you have any advice?"

"Who's Rachel?"

Now it was Kyle's turn to roll his eyes. 

"Spectacles, braces, brown pigtails and brown eyes? Really shy, wears her skirts nearly to her ankles? How can you not know her? Our school's got a hundred and seven people, Ben, you should know everyone by now."

"Ah, her! If the omega boy wants to wear knickers, size up. It depends on the brand, because sizing in retail is shite - one manufacturer says you're size small, another says you're a medium -"

"Not that! The stuff you do when people pity you, or when some bastard creeps on you, or when you're called a-a-a-well, _that_! Or when you're raised really boyish or really girly!"

Benjamin was quiet. The stereotype of the male omega who was a disappointment to his parents was firmly entrenched in pop culture. Male omegas and female alphas were seen as pitiful mistakes, the former for not being masculine enough while the latter for being infertile. Western culture defined relationships as being between male and female-that is to say, between male non-omegas and female non-alphas. Male non-omegas who liked fellow males, regardless of secondary sex, were defined as homosexual. Childbearers were defined as only female, regardless of the fact that male omegas exist. For centuries, male omegas were concubines or mistresses on the side because they tended to be harder to impregnate, and their pregnancies were highly risky, thus reducing the risk of illegitimate children. In the modern world, things were changing, but very slowly. Benjamin had read about two male alphas and one male beta who had relationships with male omegas in a magazine-all of them long, stable relationships.

"Just ignore them," Benjamin finally said. "I know it's not much and is really hard to do, but that's the way people think and I can't change that. I can only live my life the way I want to. Girly or boyish, I'm me. So, tell her to let her cousin choose how he likes to be raised." Male omegas tended to be raised two ways: very femininely because they weren't 'proper' males, or very masculine so they could 'man up'. The stereotype of the self-hating male omega in dresses trying to seduce alphas, or a male omega who was hyper-masculine and tried to be 'one of the boys' were prominent. Q himself had had male non-omega peers steered away from him so he 'wouldn't turn them gay', and female non-alpha children refuse to play with him because he was a boy. Male omegas were stuck in a very strange limbo: be masculine and get scoffed at for playing at being a man, be feminine and be pitied for trying to be a woman. Luckily, Mummy and Daddy allowed him to explore his feminine side, even though he was raised mainly masculine.

"I'll tell her, then," Kyle replied. He looked sad.

"It's not really bad, being a male omega." Benjamin comforted Kyle. "It's okay. It's the arseholes that make it a problem."

"And the loos."

"Good God, don't get me started on the loos," Benjamin scowled. Bathrooms were separated by primary sex-male or female. But whenever Benjamin went to the male lavatory, he was shouted at because he was an omega, while the women in the female lavatory didn't want him there because he was male. Edgewater had solved the problem by letting him go to the girl's lavatory and changing rooms, as Benjamin felt unsafe among the male alphas and betas in the male equivalents. As long as he didn't bother the girls, he was alright. Some parents protested, but Edgewater remained strong and replied they were committed to treating their students well. 

"Yeah, yeah. So, what else do you need to pack?" Kyle asked, trying to change the subject.

"I'll just wait for Mummy. I can't fold things worth shit."

Kyle snorted. "You got that right."

When Mummy arrived home, Benjamin called her to his room. She immediately scolded him for making a mess, but when he showed her the acceptance letter, she gave him a hug and decided the family would eat out at Benjamin's favourite restaurant in celebration. They hurried to Daddy, but he was in an important meeting with a high-profile client. Mummy was disappointed he couldn't join them, but Benjamin cheekily pointed out that meant he would get two celebrations-one with Daddy and one without. Mummy laughed at that and brought them to Domino's for lunch. Daddy took them out to The Curry Vine for dinner that evening. Benjamin devoured two portions of their chicken tikka masala and curry.


	7. Chapter 7

It is a truth universally acknowledged that James Bond, 007, is a prick. A loveable prick, yes-but still a prick. Ask anybody in MI6 or anyone with the slightest bit of knowledge about the 00 Division; and you will be regaled with stories of how he annoyed his handlers, pissed off M, and generally raised people’s blood pressure up to astronomical levels, yet being so charming people generally let him off lightly.

To Q-Branch, however, Bond wasn’t just a prick. He was a _colossal _prick-but not because of his usual equipment-destroying ways, disregard of handlers and womanizing(though those were also big contributors). It was because of how he treated their Supreme Overlord Q.

It was no secret 007 and their Overlord had a relationship. It was obvious from the start the two had more chemistry going on than a pharmaceutical factory. So when the Quartermaster and 007 went to work one day with hickeys and matching good moods, they(and the rest of MI6) thought nothing of it except to grin slyly at Q and grill him for stories of Bond’s prowess in bed. Those who thought they had no chance with Bond because of their matching genitals were elated at this occurrence because they could finally find out if the agent was as skilled with men as he was with women. But the same thing happened again. And again. And again. Then Conflict of Interest forms were filed and wills updated. It was at that point that everyone in MI6 knew Bond and Q were in a serious relationship, which was shocking considering 007’s track record. The whole of MI6 immediately congratulated them both, and everybody in general was very happy. But none were more happy than Bond and Q-or 00Q as some of the younger members of MI6 were fond of calling them.

Or at least one_-half_ of the couple.

Everybody thought Bond had left his love-em-and-leave-em days behind. After all, the man had declared Q his next of kin who was poised to inherit all of his money and worldly goods after Bond had passed. In the world of spies, that was practically a declaration of marriage, as most spies were very possessive of their belongings, yet often left them to languish upon their deaths because they didn’t have anybody to leave them to. It was part and parcel of having so many identities and covers-your own life became something you cling to, and your attitude to your possessions reflect that. For a spy to want to give their things, few as they are because of their general mobile lifestyles, meant the spy found the other person trustworthy enough to share with them their life.

Yet Bond left Q. And he didn’t do it nicely, too. When you break up with someone, it is common sense and basic human decency to do it in person and in a private place. Something to cheer up the soon-to-be ex is also recommended. But no-Bond just had to do it in the coldest, most cringeworthy way to break up in the history of break ups.

R was directing 007 on a mission to bring in a honeypot who had successfully seduced information out of several high-ranking officials in various governments around the world. He had targeted a British official and gotten information that could possibly start a trade war, which was why 007 had been sent out. The honeypot was a British man by the name of William Lane. He had been selling sensitive information to the highest bidder for about five years, and was on many countries’ Most Wanted lists for seven because he used to blackmail politicians using information of their encounters. It was decided that turning him and getting all he knew was more advantageous than simply shooting him.

Q had been listening in as he couldn’t direct 007’s missions anymore due to the Conflict of Interest regulations. CCTV from the five-star hotel the politician had been staying in showed Lane had seduced the British official, and the man had taken him to his room. The official, being a disgusting pervert, had installed hidden cameras. Thus, he was filmed spilling the beans to Lane after he wore the man out with a single shag, and being left behind with only a contemptuous look-but not before Lane was seen eyeing the politician’s head and the chair the hotel provided in a manner that left no doubt to his wish of bashing the politician’s head in. Understandable, as the man had bragged about the most terrible things during their coupling - his large collection of porn, his size, and how often he did this without his wife knowing. Most importantly, Lane’s face had been caught on camera, which was a boon as the man was always extremely careful to never show his face on CCTV. MI6 could only surmise he had gotten cocky after all his successful honeypots and became sloppy.


	8. Chapter 8

Q dropped his mug when the door to his living room was kicked open. The mug shattered, spilling hot Earl Grey over his feet and staining his white shag rug. Q paid no attention to his rapidly reddening toes, his attention focused on the blond man pointing a gun on him.

“Put your hands up,” the man commanded, his voice low and angry. “I won’t hesitate to shoot you.”

Not knowing what else to do, Q obeyed, his mind oddly blank. The man walked to him and cuffed his hands together behind his back. Some distant part of Q’s mind wondered where exactly the gun-toting blond hid the restraints as his suit seemed tight enough to show any bulges. He stopped thinking as he was frog-marched out of his house in only his boxers, his neighbours gaping from the windows. Miss Myers froze at the sight, her landline phone slipping out from her hands. Q hoped that it was the police she was calling so they could rescue him before he was spirited away into some seedy abandoned warehouse.

“If I may ask,” Q said as he was shoved into the backseat of a silver Aston Martin, “what am I being kidnapped for?” Politeness was good. Being polite was an important habit many people needed to cultivate, including his kidnapper. Q promptly wondered if the shock had melted his brain.

“You know damn well what you’re being taken in for,” was the man’s answering growl as he tilted the rearview mirror so he could watch him instead of the road. “Now shut up before I shoot you.”

“Ngk,” was Q’s intelligent response. He wondered how much his fellow students at boarding school would pay to see him speechless. Q moved his mouth several times, giving off the impression of a very large, very concussed fish, before he gave up on formulating a response. They drove in silence to a building he recognised as SIS headquarters. Q wondered if he should risk asking again, but decided not to bother when four security guards with guns surrounded the car. For the second time that day, he was frog-marched into an unfamiliar place at the wrong end of a gun.

He was wordlessly shoved into an interrogation room, seated on a chair, and cuffed to the metal table. He shuddered, the coldness of the metal making his skin break out into goosebumps. He turned his head to stare beseechingly at what he assumed was a two-way mirror even though didn’t know what exactly he was asking for. A two-week vacation to the Maldives? A box of expensive chocolate, preferably with caramel insides? A tin of loose-leaf Earl Grey? He would happily settle for being returned back to his house.

Q shook his head, banishing his thoughts. He needed to get himself together and stop gibbering stupidly. Just then, the door to the interrogation room was opened and a dark-skinned woman with beautiful curls in a sleeveless blue dress walked in with a file in her hands. She somehow managed to look gorgeous under the harsh lights of the interrogation room. She sat down opposite Q, giving him a sweet smile.

“Hello there,” she greeted him. “You’ve gotten yourself into a right spot of trouble, haven’t you?” Her brown eyes were kind. She rested her toned arms on the table, uncaring of the cold.

“I — guess?” Q mumbled out. “Why am I here again, if you don’t mind telling me? The blond man wasn’t very forthcoming.”

Q jerked as the door banged open. He looked back only to blanch as said man entered the room, his face murderous. The man slammed the door closed before leaning against the jamb and pulling his suit jacket open to show his gun in a holster. He watched Q like a hawk, brushing his hand against the gun.

“No need for that, Agent,” the woman said. Q turned his head to her. “He’s cuffed and almost nude — he’s hardly a threat.”

Q’s kidnapper scoffed. “He is. He’s not a lost little lamb, he’s a dangerous criminal. Don’t get taken in by those puppy dog eyes of his.” Q stared at him, thinking that he was actually beyond lost — he was stranded on Pluto, disoriented, and desperately trying to contact Earth.

The woman rolled her eyes before opening the folder and read the contents out loud. Q looked at her again, thinking that his head was going to fall off from this constant swiveling.

“It says here you are Robert Benedict Frobisher, though you use the name Robert Q for your stage name. You were born on 15 December 1985 and went to Paramount Elementary, skipping two grades even though you were smart enough to skip five, before going to Eton at thirteen before graduating at fifteen. You took a gap year and went to RADA on scholarship despite you trying to withdraw to find a job to pay off your father’s debts after he was swindled out of his money by his friend, who turned out to be a member of a small-time crime syndicate called The Crimson Snake.”

At this, she looked up and said with a smile “Mysteriously, your father won a lottery ticket that solved all of your money troubles two weeks after the scam and your father’s friend was raided by Scotland Yard a month later after a freakishly accurate anonymous tip. At first, the detectives thought the crime syndicate had a mole, but after finding signs of hacking on the swindler’s computer, they concluded that one of his victims took revenge on him. Of course, the identity of the hacker was never found.”

She continued “You graduated at twenty and took on minor or secondary roles for three years. Then your portrayal of Miles Parker, a gentleman’s kept boy with a penchant for crossdressing in the second act of the play _Behind Closed Doors_ which discussed our Victorian ancestors’ hypocritical morality caught the eye of the famous director Chester Lee.” To Q’s horror, she pulled out a picture of him reclining on a chaise lounge in a green silk teagown, taking a real macaroon from a pile of fake ones, nibbling on it seductively while winking at his partner.

_Behind Closed Doors _was a new play that had been lampooned by critics who declared it the most boring play of the year despite its innovative premise, ‘…minus Robert Q’s glittering performance of the easiest part of the programme’. It ran for barely four weeks before being closed.

“Chester Lee chose you to portray the lost fae in the play _The Lost Prince_, a story about a man who befriended a dethroned fae . You received critical acclaim and was given the Laurence Olivier Award for Best Actor.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James valiantly fought his lust. It was completely inappropriate, and far too close to peeping tom behaviour. He would not ogle his king, and that was final.
> 
> The king stretched. His neck curved, his nipples peeked out of the water, and he made soft contented noises before sinking back into the bath.
> 
> James gave in as he had countless times before: he stared greedily at his sovereign's slender collarbones, soft stomach, lean thighs, and long, elegant cock nestled in dark curls.

The king sighs, tipping his head back. James increased the pressure of his hands. How his king could live with such tense muscles was beyond him. If only his sovereign would do those exercises he showed him, but no, he just had to bend over yet another ledger or book or map. He was broken out of the trance he had fallen into when the king fumbled for his forearm.

"James," King Q murmured, voice gone soft and sleepy, "My shoulders now, if you please."

The manservant complied and slid his hands lower. The king hissed as James dug at a stubborn knot, and relaxed as the muscle loosened up. 

James, for his part, was anything _but _relaxed. Trance broken, his attention was now free to latch on his employer's nudity. His eyes roamed lower, past the king's pale neck and down towards the water where his-

James looked away, valiantly fighting his lust. It was completely inappropriate, and far too close to peeping tom behaviour. He would not ogle his king, and that was final. The king stretched. His neck curved, his nipples peeked out of the water, and he made soft contented noises before sinking back into the bath. James gave in as he had countless times before: he stared greedily at his sovereign's slender collarbones, soft stomach, lean thighs, and long, elegant cock nestled in dark curls. He shifted in discomfort at the sudden tightness of his trousers.

"Is something the matter, James?" Q asked. He was frowning up at his manservant. "You're rather flushed, and you seem to be in distress. Are your knees hurting you?"

"I'm not so old that I have _knee problems_, of all things," James replied, though his knees were aching from being pressed to the cold stone floor for the past twenty minutes. 

"Anyone would be sore if they had to stay on their knees for -"

"Q, I'm perfectly alright," James interrupted. "Just enjoy your bath. You have no need to worry about me."

"I'd say I have every need. If you just use the stool I had brought in, which I remind you is in the corner, we wouldn't have this problem."

James would much rather be thrown off his horse. The angle the stool raised him to would have given his arousal away in an instant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched Merlin S1 recently, and thought of making Q James' manservant. But it's been done before, and seeing Colin Morgan and Daniel Craig's ears made me decide James as Q's manservant.
> 
> I got into Merlin horrendously late. I somehow had like 5 fics through osmosis of this Merthur pairing who I barely remember how they look like, but after circa the 7th bookmarked fic I watched the show, and I became a casual fan. One good thing about getting into a series eight years too late is the fact that all the seasons and episodes are already there for you to watch.


	10. Chapter 10

James folded the bill in half. He did it again. And again. Soon he was throwing it into the bin in his and Alec's tiny bedsit. It wasn't hard, the distance between their corner bed and the wastepaper bin was only two meters. 

Alec watched him, hollow-eyed and tired. He was leaning against the wall, his thigh touching James'. James couldn't bear to look at him, suddenly.

"I'm going out," James said. He strode over to the hooks behind the door and pulled on his coat.

"It's freezing outside." Alec sounded so empty. James wondered how they were supposed to go on like this. He could see the way their life now was wearing on them both, especially on his partner. Sometimes James just wanted to run away from it all: the bills, the shitty flat, the cheap food, being overpaid and underworked. 

"I'll manage." He wouldn't, and they both knew that. He was malnourished and exhausted; it wouldn't take much for him to shiver.

"If you get sick..." Alec didn't need to elaborate. It would mean having only one income. They were barely scraping by as it is. Their boss would gleefully fire James for taking sick leave.

"I just need some air." 


End file.
